


show, not tell

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Body Image, Body Worship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 19:04:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18784288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: There was a distance growing between them and something was terribly wrong. It was small at first, turning down coffee and the teetering, misshapen cake she’d tried her hand at baking later in the week. She’d chalked it up to its shabby appearance and questionable skills in the kitchen. But then she noticed other things.Like the way he insisted on the lights off in the bedroom when she sidled up against him and let her hands wander over his body, rucking his sleep shirt (another new development) up his body and insisting it come off now. Like the way he had taken to batting her hands away from him and pressed hard, urgent kisses to her mouth and rolled her over and beneath him, taking control back and shifting the focus onto her.Jack was hiding something from her and she was going to find out what.





	show, not tell

**Author's Note:**

> this has been rolling around in my head for a hot minute and i've been nervous to post it because....well for a lot of reasons. i may have been projecting a little here, but what can you do?

Stepping out onto the sun-warmed patio and cupping the steaming hot cup of coffee in her hand, Sam rolled her shoulders and tilted her head to the side, breathing in deeply. After months in a foreign galaxy, it felt settling and anchoring to be back on Earth with a familiar sun beating down on her and springy grass beneath her toes and—

 

Warm lips pressed to the base of her neck and strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind her. She sighed softly and leaned back into the solid wall of man behind her, tilting her head to the side and laughing softly when Jack hooked his chin over her shoulder and nuzzled against her neck. 

 

“Morning,” he rumbled, voice still sleep-ridden. His big hands slipped beneath her t-shirt and stroked over the soft skin of her belly, thumb rubbing soft circles over her hips. 

 

Sam turned in his arms and pressed her body against his, offering him up her coffee. She’d taken to drinking it like him: black with enough sugar in it that you could bake a cake. 

 

He reached for the cup then hesitated before pushing it back towards her. “No, not for me today.”

 

She frowned at him. They had enough breakfasts and late-night pick-me-ups and shared mornings together over the course of the last ten or so years that she knew that he _never_ turned down coffee. 

 

“You feeling okay?” she asked with concern, reaching a hand up to playfully feel his forehead for a temperature. “It’s not like you to turn down coffee.”

 

Instead of an answer, he just nuzzled further against her, head ducking to plant a trail of soft, open mouthed kisses down the column of her neck. She sighed and tilted her head back to give him more access, her grip on her coffee becoming more and more tenuous with each new touch. 

 

Finally, he pulled back and kissed her softly, tongue flicking into the cavern of her mouth and sweeping over her tongue and teeth. She hummed appreciatively and grumbled when he pulled away far too soon.

 

“I think I have a new favorite way to take my morning coffee.”

 

Sam put the coffee down on the rickety railing of the cabin porch and wound her arms around his neck, dragging his mouth back down towards hers, hips rolling and pushing against his already. 

 

By the time his hands were slipping beneath the waistband of her sweats and his fingers were slipping inside of _her_ , she couldn’t remember what she was worried about in the first place.

 

___________

 

Except there _was_ something wrong. It was small at first, turning down coffee and the teetering, misshapen cake she’d tried her hand at baking later in the week. She’d chalked it up to its shabby appearance and questionable skills in the kitchen. But then she noticed other things.

Like the way he insisted on the lights off in the bedroom when she sidled up against him and let her hands wander over his body, rucking his sleep shirt (another new development) up his body and insisting it come off _now._ Like the way he had taken to batting her hands away from him andpressed hard, urgent kisses to her mouth and rolled her over and beneath him, taking control back and shifting the focus onto her.

It was in the way he started dressing, too. He always had a penchant for oversized clothing, button up shirts that billowed around his body and cargo shorts that could have fit two of him into a single pant leg. But this was getting ridiculous, she decided, looking out at him sitting on the dock, his pants rolled up a comically large amount of times up over his knees and his bare feet dangling in the cool, fresh water of their lake. As the wind whipped around him, she could see how much loose and extra fabric around his shoulders and stomach was blowing back and wrapping around him.

 

Although he may think and say otherwise, Jack was an open book to her. Even in those early days, the moment that she understood him—his humor, his attitudes, his values—everything else just _clicked_. 

 

He was hiding something from her now—figuratively and literally. And she was going to get to the bottom of it. This distance growing between them, the sense of _off,_ needed to go. She only had a few more weeks being earthbound before she was flung to the other side of the galaxy and she had every intention of making the most of it.

 

Grabbing two tall, cold glasses of lemonade, she slipped her sunglasses on over her eyes and headed to meet him down on the dock. The heat of the day and the heat of his body pressed against her while she sipped on lemonade and dunked her feet in the water next to his sounded just about perfect. 

 

When she reached the end of the dock, her shadow casting a long, dark line over him, he looked up and smiled softly at her. She pressed her lips to his softly in greeting, a soft peck that every day couples got to share. Ordinary and affectionate and _allowed._

 

She still cherished these moments—the ones she never thought they’d get to have. 

 

Settling herself next to him, she passed him the glass of lemonade and pressed her thigh against his, leaning her head onto his shoulder and sighing happily. She felt the press of his lips against the side of her head, long and lingering. 

 

Beneath the water, her feet bumped against his and she felt his laugh rumble through her. 

 

“You lookin’ to pick a fight, Carter?”

 

She raised her head and stuck her tongue out at him. “You’d lose.”

 

If it had been three years ago, she would have gotten some sort of quip, maybe a too-quick smile and a change of topic. But now, she got the press of his lips against hers and his body leaning into hers and tempting her into laying flat against the sun-warmed dock as he kissed his way down her body. 

 

In her haste to get her hands on his body and drag her feet from the water to straddle him, their long-forgotten glasses of lemonade tipped over, spilling ice cold and incredibly sticky sweet liquid over the dock. She dropped her head to his chest, laughing, before leaning forward and licking off the droplets of lemonade that had splashed over his face. 

 

“You’re sticky,” she murmured against his skin, fingers stroking over his face and into his hair where the lemonade had struck. Her tongue dragged over the curve of his jaw and up to the shell of his ear. “Pretty sure this calls for a shower, General. Permission to assist?” she teased, rocking her hips against him. 

 

He stiffened beneath her touch—and not in the way that she was hoping. In an instant, he was withdrawn and awkward, eyes averting hers. “I think I can handle this mission on my own, Carter.”

 

And then he was pushing her gently off of him and collecting the now-empty lemonade glasses and stalking back towards the cabin, leaving her behind. She tried not to take it personally, but she was starting to wonder if what was eating at him was _her._ Whatever it was, she was more convinced now than ever that _something_ was wrong. And she was going to find out.

 

She never was good at being left behind with unanswered questions. Determinedly, she pushed herself up off the dock—the same dock on which she had every intention of stripping him down and riding him to orgasm on—and followed him inside the cabin. 

 

Samantha Carter was going to get to the bottom of this. 

 

___________

 

She found him in the downstairs guest bathroom, the water of the shower running already, and his boxers around his ankles as he worked on stripping down, the lemonade-soaked shirt already on the ground beside him.

 

At the sound of her entering, he startled and jumped up, pulling the towel around his waist and turning away from her. “Carter!” he yelped in surprise. “Little privacy?”

 

Sam shut the door behind her and leaned back against it, crossing her arms over her chest, fending off the sting of hurt. “Privacy?” she asked disbelieving. “Since when did we ever want privacy between us?”

 

His stony silence felt like a rock in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she was right. Maybe his problem _was_ with her. 

 

“Jack?” she asked softly, trying to keep her voice level and her emotions in check. “You wanna tell me what’s going on? You’ve been off ever since I got back home.”

 

The sound of the shower pounding against the tile and the billowing steam of the hot water filled the room. In front of her, Jack stood half-turned away from her, his hands a death grip on his towel. Shoring herself up against the rising panic and hurt as her mind turned over each and every possibility as to why he could be acting this way, she settled herself more firmly against the door. 

 

“I’m not leaving until we talk about this. None of this silent treatment crap, Jack. And don’t you dare think of spinning a line of bull to distract me, either.”

 

Jack looked at her, eyes haunted and skittish, before he closed them and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay,” he breathed out resignedly. Reaching behind him, he killed the shower, figuring he wouldn’t be escaping beneath the hot water any time soon. 

 

“I hadn’t really noticed it much, I guess,” he started, keeping his eyes averted from hers and fixed determinedly at some point on the door just to the right of her eye line—like she was his drill sergeant and he a recruit at basic training. “It wasn’t until you got back home that I realized.”

 

She frowned, taking a half-step towards him. “Realized what?”

 

“That I’m—y’know. That I—“ He huffed in frustration at his inability to get the words out. Whatever it was, the words seemed to be stuck deep in his throat, unwilling to be uttered. She took another step towards him and placed her hand on his forearm in reassurance and comfort.

 

“Jack?”

 

“I’m older than you,” he said helplessly. “And I’m not on active duty anymore and riding a desk, y’know, doesn’t lend itself to the world’s best body.” Even in the slightly dimmed light of the bathroom, she could see his cheeks pink with shame and embarrassment. 

 

Her heart clenched in her chest as she put together what his actions of the lsat week _actually_ meant and she stepped closer, intending to wrap him in her arms, to press reassuring kisses to his bare chest, to tell him emphatically how wrong he was.

 

But he stepped away, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he said, voice low. “I don’t need pity or-or flattery. I’m not blind, Sam. I have a fucking mirror. I just don’t want you to think you have to stay with me just because we waited this long. I understand if you would rather be with someone closer to your age, someone who, y’know, matches you.”

 

She stared at him, hurt and anger and disbelief and sadness welling up within her. “Is that really what you think of me?” she asked incredulously. “That I’m just with you out of obligation.”

 

“Well you have a habit of sticking around and trying to make things work even when you know they _aren’t.”_

 

The ghosts of the men who used to be in her life floated to life between them in that moment—Jonas and Pete haunting the room. 

 

“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that for now,” she said stiffly. He seemed to sag in the face of her hurt and he shook his head, stepping towards her and offering his open arms.

 

“Fuck, Sam, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry.”

 

He enveloped her into his arms and she went willingly, choosing to forgive the comment in that moment. There was obviously so much more to discuss and this strike in the face of insecurity could be forgiven this time. Besides, it felt good to finally touch him the way she’d been aching to for weeks: her lips and cheek and face on his bare chest, his big warm hands on her and holding her close. 

 

She pulled away and peered up at him, fingers pressing into the firm planes of his chest, nails dragging through the smattering of silver and white chest hair. He shuddered beneath her touch and she tilted her head thoughtfully. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about with this ‘matching’ bull,” she started, fingers working meticulously over his chest, teasing him by just scratching the skin near his sensitive nipples. “I think we match just fine. You balance me, Jack,” she said softly, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss over the place where his heart was. 

 

“Sam,” he protested, turning her towards the bathroom mirror, forcing her to look at the pair of them standing side by side. “Look at us. Look at _me._ ”

 

Her heart ached at the despair and panic and the touch of self-loathing in his voice. She needed him to see what she did. 

 

“I _am_ looking,” she said forcefully. “I’m looking at the man who’s been by my side for the last ten years, the man who has been my friend and mentor and partner. Who are you looking at?”

 

He glared at the mirror, nostrils flaring. “I’m looking at has-been Air Force General who’s gotten comfortable behind the desk and probably couldn’t save the planet right now without needing to stop for a breather every five minutes.”

 

She shook her head at him. “Then maybe you nee to get your eyes checked, old man. Look, I’ll show you.”

 

She stepped behind him and glided her hands over his shoulders and arms, rubbing up and down softly. “I see strong arms of the man who dragged his team to safety, myself included, more times than one. Arms that have saved more planets and a galaxy or two. I love these arms.” 

 

She pressed a kiss to each of his shoulders and biceps, nuzzling against the warm skin softly, hoping to impart even a hint of what she felt for him with each touch, with each word. 

 

“Sam, you don’t have to—“

 

“And these hands,” she continued, ignoring his protests and the way his eyes shone slightly, the way his cheeks pinked. She lifted his hands to her lips and she pressed an intimate kiss to each finger, to center of his palm, to the place in his wrist where his pulse thrummed. “These hands are the stars of the fantasies of almost every woman on base—mine included.”

 

He raised an eyebrow that and she was half-tempted to suck a finger into her mouth to prove her point, then thought that was an excellent idea after all, and proceeded to do just that. The way his eyes darkened at the sight of his finger disappearing between her lips, the feel of her tongue and teeth on the sensitive tip of his finger was overwhelming and she could see, with a sense of growing feminine pride, his erection tenting the towel still wrapped around his waist. 

 

She let his fingers go with a pop, enjoying his faint growl of _Carter_ , before letting her hands drift down his shoulder blades, her nails scratching a pink line down the skin. Goosebumps erupted over his back and arms and she leaned forward to press a kiss to the center of his back. 

 

Her hands splayed over his belly and he tensed beneath her touch. She pressed on, rubbing her hand back and forth over his stomach, nails dragging through the trail of hair that ran across his stomach and down beneath his towel. 

 

“Yes,” she said softly. “You’ve put on some weight here. But Jack, you’ve earned this. If you want to spend every day eating steak and having a beer, fine. I may insist on a vegetable when I’m here,” she teased gently before turning serious and caressing the gentle swell of his stomach where the added weight had gathered. “But this doesn't change the way I feel about you,” she promised him. “This isn’t why I fell in love with you.”

 

“It was my sweet ass, wasn’t it?” he teased through a throat clogged thick with emotion. She huffed a laugh and dragged her hands from his stomach across his hips and back behind him, cupping his towel-clad ass and squeezing none-too-gently.

 

“What gave it away?”

 

“Your poker face sucks, Carter. Every time I caught you checking it out, you’d get all pink and flustered. Yes, like that!” he laughed softly, catching sight of the way her eyes went wide and her cheeks went pink at the revelation that, yes, he _had_ known and caught her all those times she tried to better appreciate his backside. 

 

“Can you blame me?” she asked innocently, palming him and squeezing. He groaned at her touch, hips jumping. Beneath his towel, his erection stood at attention, eager for the next place she’d touch him. 

 

Sam stood on her tiptoes, hands sliding back around to his hips and rubbing her thumbs over his hip bones. Together, they stared at their reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t the fresh-faced Captain with a chip on her shoulder from all those years ago and he wasn’t the cocky, slightly suicidal flyboy he was when she first met him. 

 

They’d grown and changed together, evolved together, brought out the best (and sometimes worst) in each other.

 

“You see it now?” she whispered, lips brushing against his shoulder with each word, her hands tiptoeing their way beneath his towel and loosening the place where the fabric was tucked against itself. 

 

“What?” 

 

“I just see the man I love,” she said simply, finally working the towel free and letting the heavy fabric drop the ground alongside his boxers and the rest of his oversized clothing.

 

He watched in the mirror as she settle back onto the balls of her feet and stepped back around to stand at his side and take his fully erect cock in her hand. It was intoxicating, watching her int he mirror and feeling the sensation. _Seeing_ the way her eyes lit up as she touched him, the way her skin flushed with excitement at the prospect of being with him, the way she shifted her weight between her feet and rubbed her thighs together, squeezing.

 

Her thumbnail caught on the head of his cock, making him hiss with shock and pleasure. She immediately soothed the sting, collecting a drop of fluid that had formed at his tip and smearing it over his head and shaft, making it easier for her to move her hand up and down his length. 

 

“Sam,” he groaned, pushing against her hand, eager for more. He’d been denying himself her touch for so long, ashamed to have her touch him— _really_ touch him. But he saw now how eager and ready she was to do just that. 

 

She dropped to her knees, creating a makeshift pillow with the towel to combat the ache of the tile against her knees. Still working him over with her hand, she peppered kisses along his thighs, over his heavily scarred knees. She squeezed him, drawing a harsh groan from low in his throat. Finally, she raised herself up on her knees and pressed a kiss directly to his stomach, right on the place that had sparked these insecurities. 

 

His hands went to her hair, pushing the longer-than-normal strands out of her face and forcing her to look up at him. With his hands cupping her face, she nuzzled into his palm briefly, before leaning forward and kissing his stomach again in conjunction with another squeeze and twist of her hand around his cock. 

 

She would rewire him, force him to see himself the way she did. He was so much more than this body. He was everything to her—her friend, her lover, her mentor, her partner in crime: the man she loved. 

 

And she would show him. 

**Author's Note:**

> yeah. if that felt a little rushed it's because i wrote this in about an hour and twenty minutes while my yeasted cakes were rising (not a metaphor for anything salacious) and i just wanted to post whatever i got done in that time--like a timed writing exercise, i guess. anywho, i hope you enjoy! body image and sex are hard topics to handle and something i definitely struggle with, so this was half-cathartic and half-fun :)


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